


Vice

by Mazarin221b



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: First Time, Lewis is a bit of a sneak, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 22:16:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mazarin221b/pseuds/Mazarin221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lewis asks Hathaway to quit smoking, but his reason for doing so may not be as altruistic as it seems.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Hathaway puts his cigarette to his lips to take another drag, just to annoy Lewis, but when he does so, Lewis reaches around his hand and plucks the smoke from his mouth. His blunt fingers tangle around Hathaway’s and brush against his lips, and Hathaway jerks back, startled at the contact.</i></p><p> </p><p>  <i>“Just call it a personal favor and give it a good try, eh?” Lewis says, and his blue eyes are soft, affectionate, and Hathaway can only nod.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Vice

**Author's Note:**

> Beta by the lovely Sc010f. Also, my first Lewis fic.

“You ever think about chucking those?” Lewis asks, eyeing Hathaway’s burning cigarette pointedly as he puts Hathaway’s pint onto the wooden table with a thunk.

“Cheers,” Hathaway says, and takes a sip, the smoke from his lit cigarette curling up and over his head as he drinks. He doesn’t say anything, but then realizes Lewis is still eyeing him, waiting for an answer. “Not really,” he finally says, and takes a deep drag, holds it for a moment, and blows it into the cool autumn air. “’In order to know virtue, we must first acquaint ourselves with vice.’”

“Who’s that? Balzac or summat?”

Hathaway recognizes the teasing tone under the flat dismissal. “The Marquis de Sade, actually,” he replies primly, and can’t stop the grin that forms when it finally registers with Lewis who, exactly, that is.

“Pervert,” Lewis chides good naturedly, and Hathaway laughs and bats away the crumpled up napkin that Lewis chucks at him.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

It’s not that Hathaway’s never thought about quitting, it’s just that he’s not thought about it in a long time. The drag of being a copper, the long days and never-ending waiting around, doesn’t lend itself to idle hands. The last time he tried to quit (cold turkey, the six months before he met Lewis), he gained almost a stone from constantly having something in his mouth.

He probably should reconsider, though, as he snaps his lighter. Tomorrow, maybe. Or the weekend. Wouldn’t do to be a pain in the arse at work for those first hardest days.

“Still say you should think about it,” Lewis says as he climbs out of his car. He parked right next to Hathaway’s favorite smoking spot, so there’s no escape.

 Hathaway takes another drag and squints at Lewis, annoyed.

“Now, now, there’s no cause to be like that.” Lewis says, and leans back against the building with his hands in his pockets. Hathaway’s worked with him too long, and the casual posture has him wary in an instant.

“On the contrary, I think there is.”

“Let me just say, our Lyn keeps after me to eat more veg—“

“And you get that look on your face every time she does,” Hathaway points out.

“So I do. But I’ve been doing it, for me own health. And you’re still a young man, James. What are you, 38, 40?”

“Thirty –seven.”

“See? Thirty-seven and blackening your lungs with that gunk. Don’t mind a man having a vice or two, but honestly, you’re killin’ yourself with those things and it’s painful to see it.”

Hathaway puts his cigarette to his lips to take another drag, just to annoy Lewis, but when he does so, Lewis reaches around his hand and plucks the smoke from his mouth. His blunt fingers tangle around Hathaway’s and brush against his lips, and Hathaway jerks back, startled at the contact.

“Just call it a personal favor and give it a good try, eh?” Lewis says, and his blue eyes are soft, affectionate, and Hathaway can only nod.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Saturday morning is clear and bright and Hathaway hates every second as soon as he opens his eyes.

He wasn’t sure if he was actually serious on Thursday, but, he thinks wryly, it’s not like he’s been able to tell Lewis no before. He can feel the tug of having a smoke and a coffee pulling on him as he slips on a pair of track bottoms and a fleece jacket and his trainers, downs a piece of toast and a glass of orange juice and darts out of the door to drive down to the river and hopefully be in time to get a scull.

He is, and as he settles the oars in the locks and takes the first pull, sending his boat gliding across the water in the early morning gloom, he forgets about the itch in his throat, the fidgety fingers. It’s bloody freezing out on the water, the edges of the river shrouded in thin, wispy fog, but the silence calms him and the exercise is a good distraction.  About an hour later he pulls back toward the bank and as he turns to clamber out onto the grass he finds Lewis standing there with a paper cup of coffee.

“Oh, bless you, sir,” he says, wrapping his hands around the cup gratefully. The coffee is still blisteringly hot and Hathaway takes a gulp, risking a burnt tongue for a shot of heat straight into his stomach. “How’d you know where I was?”

Lewis flashes a quick smirk. “Detective Inspector, me.  Smart, even.” He gives Hathaway another of those long, searching glances and Hathaway fights to not look away. “How’re you doing?”

“It’s been all of, oh, let’s see, twelve hours. I’ve got enough willpower for at least twelve more.”

Lewis chuckles, an amused rumble straight from his chest that Hathaway wishes he heard more often. His governor doesn’t laugh nearly enough, and Hathaway finds himself trying to provoke him into it more times than not, just to hear that infectious guffaw that never fails to make him smile.

“Breakfast, I think,” Lewis says, breaking into his thoughts. “Bloody freezing. Come on; I’ll buy.” Lewis starts walking back toward the car park and Hathaway stands, bemused, until Lewis waves an arm at him to hurry. He breaks into a trot to catch up, wondering what’s gotten into Lewis’ head this time.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Sunday is bad but Monday is worse, and Hathaway finds more often than not his pens are in his mouth before he can stop them. He wants a smoke, needs a smoke, but if he can just get through the next couple of days it’ll get easier. It’s got to; he’s snapped at the SOCO, almost been insubordinate to Lewis, and when his computer freezes then crashes at 2 in the afternoon he finally loses it and throws his mouse against the wall. The impact shatters the casing and the batteries scatter with a satisfying thunk. He shoves his chair back and stands up with what must be a serious look of determination because Lewis is already blocking his way to the door.

“Hold on, there, lad,” he says, arms crossed. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Hathaway unconsciously mirrors his posture. “Outside,” he says. “If you don’t mind. Sir.”

“You’re doing well, Jim,” Lewis whispers. “Don’t blow it now.”

“There’s only so much I can take.”

“Look, I wasn’t going to do this unless it was dire, but, well, needs must. Here.” Lewis walks back around his desk and tosses  Hathaway a box of nicotine patches. “Slap one of those on your arm, you’ll feel better.”

Hathaway rolls his eyes. “Already tried these. They don’t make up for the actual physical habit, the, the stimulation of something in my mouth.” He can feel himself flush as he says it, knowing how it sounds, but it’s absolutely true.

“Yeah, got you these too,” Lewis replies, and hands over a sack of small, sugar-free lollies. “Dad went through a sack a week when he was trying to quit.”

Hathaway slumps back into his chair. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Figures. Here, have a lolly.”

“Ta. Now, let’s get this sorted, and you can go back to work.” Lewis collects the batteries and the mouse and fits it all back together, while Hathaway sorts out his computer. As he finally succumbs to the inevitability of the hard restart, he sighs.

“Lose much?” Lewis asks, and Hathaway is startled to realize he’s still standing next to him.

“Hopefully not. Just reviewing case notes, I didn’t add much of anything.”  Hathaway leans his elbows on his knees, rubs his forehead with his fingertips. The nicotine from the patch is working its way into his system, but the stress is making his head hurt.

“Oh, for God’s sake. Here,” Lewis says, exasperated, and Hathaway jerks, startled, when he feels blunt fingers against his head. “Val got migraines all the time. Said this helped.” Lewis strokes slow circles into Hathaway’s hair, massaging his scalp and temples, fingers are strong and sure. He’s never touched Hathaway quite like this – small things, a clap on the shoulder or a hand on his arm, but nothing so direct it makes Hathaway’s skin prickle into gooseflesh and his face flush hot.

“All right?” Lewis says quietly.

Hathaway sucks in a deep breath, sits up and away from Lewis’ hands. “Much better sir, thank you.” He puts his hand on his mouse and gives it a few, experimental shakes just for something to do. “I should call SOCO, get those logs updated you were asking about earlier.”

Lewis doesn’t say anything, simply pats Hathaway’s shoulder and goes back to his desk and flips open their current case notes, laying out the pictures on his desk again.

Hathaway stares at his computer screen without seeing anything.  He never expected Lewis to be so … gentle, or demonstrative, in his efforts to help.

He also knows he shouldn’t like it as much as he does.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He manages to get through the entire second week before he realizes he’s being completely, thoroughly, and skillfully distracted.

Every time he pushes back from his desk, unable to resist the lure of just one smoke, _just one, it won’t kill me_ , Lewis is there with a request, an assignment, or a drive to make to the nearest suspect’s house.  When he finds himself fidgety by the end of the day and ready to sneak off back home, Lewis grabs his arm and drags him down to the pub for a meal and a pint, telling him stories about his days with Morse. Hathaway loves listening to those stories, anachronistic at times, but the echoes of Morse’s influence still linger in his governor’s methods, tempered by time and experience. 

He doesn’t mind as much as he thought he would, all the mother-henning. Lewis is always good company, never boring, never dull, and it’s been a long time since anyone actually went out of their way for him. He should tell Lewis to stop, honestly, but it’s nice, it’s comforting, and he’s probably getting a little too used to having company every evening, especially the sort of company with wry blue eyes that make his heart beat a little faster in spite of himself.

But what he can’t figure out is _why_. Why Lewis chooses to spend all of his free time the last two weeks shadowing Hathaway, making sure he doesn’t cheat, cheering him up when he’s grumbling and snappish. They’re friends, true, but they’ve never spent this much time together before.

If he didn’t know better, Hathaway would suspect … well. No, not Lewis. He’s known the man for almost seven years, and he’s never detected even a flicker of interest in another man before, and certainly not at him, no matter what secretive little daydreams he keeps hidden away in the back of his brain. Just simple paternal concern for a friend, that’s all.

He decides he’s just going to accept the gift of Lewis’ attention for what it is, and enjoy it while it lasts.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

“Look, if you turn this box thing wrong way ‘round, it fits perfectly into the little hidey hole in Drummund’s basement, see?” Lewis turns the little carved wooden box up on it’s side so the tiny carved pedestal feet stick out and he slides the box home in the little niche carved out of the basement wall in their murder suspect’s house. The box had been his sister’s, and held all of her personal documents, bond certificates, and jewelry. They found it later, open and empty, in a skip a mile off from Drummund’s house. Drummund swore the box was never in his house and a search confirmed it, but when a piece of her jewelry turned up in a pawn shop in Sussex, and he fit the description of the man who pawned it, Lewis was determined to prove Drummund had the box all along.

“Brilliant, sir,” Hathaway says, pulling the lolly from his mouth. It’s getting easier, these days, to fight the cravings and as loath as he is to admit it, the sweets Lewis bought him are helping just a bit.

“I know I am,” Lewis says, and stands up, brushing the dirt from his knees. “Just a bit of actual on the ground sort of…” He trails off, staring at Hathaway with an expression of mingled surprise and, startlingly, longing.

“Sir?” Hathaway asks, and his heart shudders in his chest.  A fine tremor starts in his fingers when Lewis steps closer, slowly raises a hand to Hathaway’s cheek, and drags his thumb across Hathaway’s lips.

“Your mouth is red,” he says, and Hathaway has a nonsensical moment of trying to say “Yes, well, the sweets, you know,” before he realizes Lewis has stepped away and is climbing the stairs back up to the kitchen, leaving Hathaway standing alone in the dingy, dim basement, a hand raised to his mouth and his heart hammering.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

The ride back to Hathaway’s —where they’d left the stack of case files when Lewis had his brainwave about the box—is silent, the tension stretched and taut between them when there normally is convivial conversation. Hathaway drums his fingers on his knee and stares out of the window, almost afraid to catch Lewis’ eye, to acknowledge the looming awareness between them that could overwhelm them both.

When they reach Hathaway’s flat Lewis doesn’t turn the car off, doesn’t even pause. He merely smiles tightly at Hathaway and makes ready to drive off until Hathaway realizes that this is it, this is the chance, this is the only time Lewis will take this risk. He’s been sending Hathaway signals loud and clear for almost three weeks now, broadcasting his care, his devotion, and now his desire.

Hathaway takes a deep breath and reaches across to take hold of the steering wheel.  “Stay. Have a beer with me,” he says, and Lewis looks up, surprised. But he turns the car off and climbs out, follows Hathaway to his door. Hathaway walks through the hall, flicks on lights until he gets to the kitchen, pulls two beers from the fridge, opens them and hands one to Lewis.

He’s nervous, he’s not entirely sure what he should do next, and he stands in his kitchen fiddling with a beer bottle as Lewis takes a drink and watches him with an intensity usually reserved for suspects. Just as Hathaway resolves to finally say something, confront the truth of the undeniable, Lewis puts his beer down on the counter and sighs.

“I’m sorry, lad. I shouldn’t have,” Lewis says, leaning against the counter and giving Hathaway that wry smile. “Lost me head a bit. I’m sorry if I’ve made it all awkward now.”

Hathaway touches his lips, feels the echo of Lewis’s caress. Gathers his courage with a swallow of beer and takes the three steps across his tiny kitchen, takes Lewis’s embarrassed face between his hands and kisses him, tilting his head and gently coaxing his mouth open until there’s no doubt of his interest. Lewis makes a surprised noise in the back of this throat and clutches at Hathaway’s back, pulls him in tight.

“Sir,” Hathaway breathes, and the familiar word conveys everything—acceptance, desire, reciprocation— and is barely a word in his throat. He’s not sure where else he can put his hands, settles for wrapping them around Lewis’s  shoulders and holding on tight.

“I know how this looks,” Lewis says, and peppers kisses along Hathaway’s jaw until Hathaway closes his eyes and simply sags against him. “To old by half and your governor besides, but Christ, it’s like you’re my life some days, and I don’t half want you.”

Hathaway gasps, kisses Lewis again and again, presses him back against the worktop with legs splayed wide and bracketing Lewis’ hips.  The pressure of Lewis’s body, so familiar and yet not, against him is intoxicating, gives him ideas about heat and skin and sweat, and when Lewis nips at his bottom lip  with a little growl, Hathaway is lost.

“Lovely,” Lewis says against his lips. “Why don’t we move somewhere a bit more comfortable on my old bones, eh?”

“Experienced, maybe,” Hathaway says, and walks him back toward the bedroom, fingers interlaced and tugging slightly in his impatience.  “Not old.”

He leads Lewis to his bed, strips his own shirt and trousers while he still has the courage, and kneels across Lewis’s hips, the hand on Lewis’s belt an unspoken declaration of intent. Lewis grins at his boldness, encourages Hathaway forward with a little thrust of his hips under Hathaway’s rear. Lewis is hard and Hathaway is obviously so, and he scrambles to pull off Lewis’s trousers and tie and unbuttons his shirt until he can press his entire body against Lewis’ warm, smooth skin.

“This isn’t where I thought we’d end up, ever,” he says, slowly dragging his lips down Lewis’s sternum before pressing a kiss to his stomach. “I’d thought about it, but you’ve never … why did you never?”

“Everything I just told you James—ah God, do that again,” he gasps, when Hathaway kisses the soft round of his hip. “I’d just had enough trying to wait. I should wait.”

“We,” Hathaway corrects, before pushing himself back up Lewis’ body to nuzzle into the hollow of his neck and shoulder. He smells wonderful , warm and male and a bit like starch from his collar. “We should consider waiting. But I don’t really want to, do you?”

Lewis slides his hands down Hathaway’s back until he  grips Hathaway’s arse with both hands. “Not bloody likely, not when I’ve got the chance to do this.” He kneads and squeezes and feathers sweet, teasing touches over Hathaway’s skin until he laughs, wriggles away from Lewis’s tickling fingers. They wrestle and tease until Lewis gets his elbow under him and rolls them both over and settles in between Hathaway’s thighs. They both groan, sobered immediately, when their cocks catch and slide against each other.

“I don’t suppose you have any slick around, do you?” Lewis asks, glancing around the room.

Hathaway gasps and shakes his head no against the pillow, squeezes his eyes closed and lets go, loses himself in the close heat and friction of Lewis’s tongue flicking and stroking his nipple as Lewis begins an undulating push against his stomach and cock that has him seeing stars.  He wants more, needs more, so he hooks a leg around Lewis’s thigh and grinds into him, gasps and shudders at the build of pleasure until he feels his orgasm flare impossibly bright and sharp and overwhelming. Just as he begins to shake hears Lewis curse and say his name, then everything is warm and wet and close and quiet in the intimacy of the dim filtered light of his bedroom. He can only kiss Lewis’s head where it rests on his chest before he drifts off, still smiling.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

When he startles awake it’s full dark outside, and Lewis is lying next to him propped on one elbow and stroking a finger down Hathaway’s bare arm.  He feels hot and sticky and more than a bit brilliant, and when Lewis catches him awake Hathaway can’t help but lean forward and steal a kiss.

“Such a beauty,” Lewis sighs. “You should have someone your own age. It’s right selfishness of me to try to keep you.”

“Mmmm,” Hathaway says, and licks a wet kiss onto Lewis’s shoulder. “I could say the same of you.”

“Funny. You’ll get tired of me old body here soon, lad. One of these days you’ll have to explain to Innocent why I can’t get out of your bed.” Lewis tips his head back, encouraging.

“Nothing doing,” Hathaway says, and runs his foot up Lewis’ calf. “You’ll explain it, and I’ll just sit back and laugh.”

“Oi, that’s enough out of you.”

“Not yet, it isn’t.”

“Cheeky. “

“You love it, _sir_.”

“I do, God help me.”

Hathaway stretches and props himself up on his elbow, mirroring Lewis. “You know, I couldn’t figure out why you were being so helpful with the smoking thing. But you were just…courting me, weren’t you.”

Lewis smirks, and more quickly than Hathaway would have expected he pushes Hathaway onto his back and straddles his legs, pins his hands to the bed by the wrists.

“Tell me true, now, you want a smoke?”

Hathaway thinks for a moment. He does, yes, but it’s not quite the all consuming need it had been a few weeks ago. “I could, but I’m sure there are a few other things I could put in my mouth instead,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, and laughs when Lewis’s eyes go wide.

“Later,” he growls. “But first things first. Just so you know, I hate kissing smokers.”

Hathaway’s mouth drops open, he can feel it. “You hate—“

“Like licking an ashtray. Disgusting. You, on the other hand, are a sweet little morsel who smells like roses, so I think I’ll keep you.”

Hathaway can feel his mouth drop open. He can’t believe it, can’t believe he fell for the entire setup. “You absolute prat!” he says and breaks free of Lewis’s hold, tosses him back down onto the bed and tries to kiss him into submission.

“Does that mean it worked?” Lewis gasps as Hathaway wraps his hand around Lewis’s rapidly hardening cock.

“Let’s get back to you satisfying my oral fixation and I’ll let you know,” Hathaway replies, and slides down under the blankets.

 


End file.
